There are orange canyons
against a crystal sky that I would like
to return to someday.

Fat cacti sit amongst the
landscape of Mars, of
one hundred and seventeen degree
heat,

oppressive weather, like God left us in
his car while he went to do some
errands, and forgot to crack the windows.

I would still like to feel that once
more before I go on to some greener
pasture. Some Colorado spring where
I could believe in miracles
all wrapped in
gold, trapped in the bottom of a blue river.
Where I could start my life
over.